"A historian ought to be exact, sincere and impartial; free from passion, unbiased by interest, fear, resentment or affection; and faithful to the truth, which is the mother of history the preserver of great actions, the enemy of oblivion, the witness of the past, the director of the future." ― B.R. Ambedkar, Writings and Speeches

caesar +3

Sawada Tsunayoshi, famously (or perhaps infamously) known as the Vongola Decimo, was to die that day and he was the only one who knew of it. He was sitting on his desk, a cup of hot tea innocently in front of him as he clasped his hands tightly. He was to die today and he knew of that well.

Wait. There is—there is something wrong, something off. Sawada Tsunayoshi cannot possibly know that he were to die! Of course, the famed Vongola Intuition might have helped, but there was no way that it would be sophisticated enough to pinpoint the exact time and exact date of the death of one Sawada Tsunayoshi! So this begs the question—how does he know?It was unlike the God of Death to do this, unlike of Him to favor humans so much that He would tell the exact death. It was not impossible, but it was unheard of. (Though, there was once—a young man. Once, and only once, upon a time, the God of Death fell in love with Life. You could imagine how that turned out.)

A young girl steps out of the shadows. She has the most unnatural of eyes, with it being colored pink. She had tan brown skin, accentuated by the fact that her cheeks were dusted with gold and there was a little bit of gold coming out of her nose. Her hair was a deep coppery red. She wore the most peculiar of clothes; a long sleeved (literally long-sleeved as it hid her hands too) white dress with a bright gold sun smack dab in the middle of her chest. She also wore a gold rope belt, perhaps to also hide the fact that the dress was too big for her short but slightly chubby figure. On the top of her head was a hat, a square hat with gold gear-looking trimming at the edge. Actually, it wasn't only the edges of her hats with gold gear-looking trimmings on it; it was also on the tips of her sleeves and the ends of her dress. A smile was on her face, though it was not quite happy. Nay—it was—it was grim, the smile of someone hanging on the last threads of sanity.

Of course, there was no other answer on how Tsuna knew of his upcoming death. There was no other possibility he could have known other from his historian. His Historian who was governed by the Eclipsed Sun. It also made sense, Hestia was of Eclipsed and was of Sun; those combinations tended to be clingier to their charge than any other. (They also tended to be the deities who had a better chance of fully succumbing to their sanity if they do not watch their powers well.)

Tsuna gently smiles at her as his hands were tightly clasped together as if he was praying—praying to some god—to any god out there, but there was a certain hardness in his eyes. "Hestia." He starts, "Your nose is bleeding once more."

Hestia turns gold, blushing furiously as she brings her hands to her nose, letting her sleeves drop to the floor and also showing off a pair of rings connected to each other via chain on both hands. She wipes her nose with her sleeve, dirtying her white clothes with blood. "It—it happens sometimes, Decimo."

"Really?" Tsuna tilts his hea, in faux confusion. "Last I checked, you did not bleed until you have used your gift of prophecy. You have told me that yourself Hestia."

Hestia pouts, almost childishly. "Well, duh! I had to use my gift! I had to double-check all outcomes of the future—well, we have the help of Maryam so everything will go through as planned but—"

"You know I do not like you using your gift of prophecy unless it is really needed." Tsuna frowns at her disapprovingly, almost as if a father scolding a child (which in all honesty wasn't far from their relationship).

"I—I'm sorry." Hestia fiddles with her hands and by extension her rings too. "I just wanted to see. I just wanted to make sure everything will go well. A-are you sure you would want to do this?"

"Do not worry Tia." Tsuna smiles at her, using a familiar nickname. "The Vongola would be in good hands even after I die. I made sure of that, and I have instructed the closest to me to destroy the famiglia if anything other than the road Giotto would have chosen will be taken."

"I do not worry about that!" Hestia lashes out, banging her hands on the desk and her eyes glowing unnaturally. In the two years Tsunayoshi has known the deity, he has not known her to lash out like this, as it would be bad for her dwindling sanity and sanity was hard to recover these days. "I no longer worry about your death as karma will inevitably strike! What I worry is—is—what I worry about is your guardians! They—they cannot witness your final moments—"

"And it will stay that way; I do not want them to see me at my worst." Tsuna calmly interrupts her. He takes a deep breath and he feels a bit sick.

"And I deserve to see you at your worse?" Hestia puts her hands on her hips, reminiscent of a child, and cocks her head.

"If I was given the chance I would not let you see me like this, but alas—you—"Tsuna takes another deep breath, composing himself before continuing, "—you have a job to do. If I had it my way, you would have stayed at least a little saner. So—for my sake, please—just continue acting like a child."

Hestia smiles grimly at him. "You forget, I act like a child not out of my own volition but for my sanity. I am older than you, older than almost everyone here on earth." Hestia's eyes harden, "I do not like acting like a simple child. If I had my way, I would act like my own age."

"Older than the rest of us but Maryam tells me you are the youngest out of everyone in the Order. Do not forget, I am technically your father as you get your existence directly from my flames." Tsuna rolls his eyes, "You say that now but you revel in acting like a child, revel in being spoiled silly."

"Stop pulling the father card when things do not go your way." Hestia groans, "Also, everyone likes being spoiled silly, and it is you who spoils me, not anyone else."

The two share a laugh and they descend into silence. The only things that can be heard would be the ticking of the grandfather clock that was gifted by the Nono to the Decimo and the breathing of both. The tension in the air was thick, and it was really making Tsuna dizzy. He did not know if it was only him who felt that or if it was the product of the poisoned cup of tea in front of him, wafting through the air.

It reminds him of the first time he met Hestia and Fumiko. It was mostly a quiet affair (a year before his death, and thus one of Tsuna's happier memories of being with the Mafia) with Nono introducing the previous historians to Tsuna, who were kind ladies named Phoebe and Lily (Phoebe was a stubborn black woman who tended to be overbearing from how she would coddle Tsuna and was of the Evening Sun. Lily was a tall Asian woman who looked faintly Chinese, she was strict and cold but held a soft spot for Phoebe and was of the Eclipsed Moon.) and then subsequently introducing him to his historians. Apparently, historians changed every generation to prevent further bias.

He also learned more of his great great great grandfather. How he faced the trials of Kronos just to ask a favor from the deities face to face.

He remembers meeting them the first time, and being really intimidated out by the calm yet dangerous posture of the moon historian, Fumiko and being really weirded out by the childish tendencies of his sun historian, Hestia. (Though when he finds out why she acts so childish, and where the sun gets her powers, he admittedly becomes a bit protective of her and starts seeing her as his own daughter.)

Speaking of the moon historian—

"Where is Fumiko?" Tsuna breaks the silence, wondering where the moon historian was. "Will she not spectate and be a witness of my death?"

"Good question!" Hestia happily replies as if Tsuna will not die that day, "Well, she—she has a few things to finish within the famiglia so she cannot come." She whistles wistfully, "I really did hope she would come today, I have missed her dearly."

Tsuna chuckles at that. "I know, you've told me almost every hour since she has left to record the history outside of the famiglia, but that is her job and soon enough the both of you will retire."

"I guess." Hestia grins weakly at him in a way that tells Tsuna she was hiding something and before Tsuna can question this, she continues. "Hey—are you—are you doing this because he is no longer here?"

Tsuna blinks at her in surprise. He kind of guessed that she will ask this sooner or later but he did not think she will ask of this in a direct way. He composes himself and then smiles at her kindly, and this time there is softness in his eyes. "I am not." He reassures her but his eyes say otherwise. He unclasps his hands and takes the cup of tea by his hands. "I suppose I should drink this now?"

Hestia bites her lips, and she is once more fiddling with her rings. "I—"she starts, hesitating. She takes a deep breath composing herself before continuing. "I—I wish to tell you that karma is inevitable and you have way too much karma to spend in a lifetime, besides—my grimoire of history is not filled up all the way."

Tsuna freezes at the implication of the other's words to the point that he almost spills his tea. He looks at Hestia, straight in the eyes despite the other trying to avoid the contact. "T-Tia." He stutters out and winces inwardly. He was no longer a teenager, and if he was here then Tsuna would once again be on the receiving end of the Leon hammer. "There is no need to lie—there is no need to try and coddle me." He smiles at her, almost sorrowfully, "I have accepted my fate. My short two years was a good run and at least I die, not facing the barrel of a gun."

Hestia looks as if she wants to say something to him, before hesitating. She bows her head down and shakes her head. "Do what you must. I will see you soon."

Tsuna gives him once more smile and downs the tea in one go, with Hestia wincing as he does. Almost immediately, he feels the poison working, spreading to his veins and blood.

He coughs out, splattering blood all over the desk, and he remembers that his (technical) daughter was watching and he makes an effort to cover his mouth. He feels blood pouring out of his nose, eyes and ears and it burns. He stops a sob coming out from him, as he doubles over. If he wasn't in so much pain, he would feel a tad touched that this famiglia spent a fortune in buying potent poison for him.

He tries to take a breath, but finds that he cannot. Perhaps it was because of the amount of blood pouring out of his nose or because the poison has already reached his brain, he does not know and perhaps he will never find the time to care. He tries and tries to brave the pain, starting to regret and wishing death by a gun, and spares a final look at his historian, his daughter.

Then, as he looks at her, a miracle happens.

Tsunayoshi Sawada sees him. He sees him in his full glory, still wearing that god-awful fitted suit with paired with that god-awful fedora and that god-awful cocky smirk who promised excitement, danger, and mystery which he admittedly missed. It's been so long since he's last saw him, ever since his death last year.

He misses Reborn, and he will finally be with him once more.

He removes his hand from his mouth, and his heart breaks at Hestia's soft broken gasps. He no longer feels the excruciating pain that he felt earlier, instead he only feels a slight sting and peace. Peace because soon—soon he will be with him.

Sawada Tsunayoshi, (in)famously known as Vongola Decimo, closed his eyes and took his last breath. (He died at the tender age of twenty years old after leading Vongola into a fruitful two years. The famiglia who was responsible for his death was swiftly taken care of.

After the death of the Decimo, no one ever saw Hestia Miamore or Nozomi Fumiko ever again.)

A child with gravity defying brown hair opens his brown eyes rather abruptly. He stares at the sky for a moment, before finally sitting down. He was obviously quite confused, judging from the expression on his face. He looks at his hands, curiously opening and closing them before touching his hair. His eyes widen as he remembers the words of an old friend ("my grimoire of history is not filled up all the way.")

Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, the young boy thinks as he starts to piece out what happened and what is going on. Shouldn't he be dead? Shouldn't he have died? Why isn't he dead? He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself as the words of his old friend repeats itself in the back of his mind. ("my grimoire of history is not filled up all the way.")

His view on the world darkens, and he looks up to see unnatural pink eyes looking at him intently. The girl's smile is coiled into a smirk and she laughs. "Look! I finally look older than you here!"

"Hi—e!"He exclaims out, in shock and then promptly faints.

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